Island of Lost Souls
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Andy and Miranda run off to a tropical island together - only this island has some chilling secrets! A totally shameless rip-off of an old horror classic, but with plenty of Andy and Miranda humor and warmth. Mild f/f too!
1. Two Castaways

ISLAND OF LOST SOULS

_Andy and Miranda enjoy a brief tropical vacation, and meet some rather strange natives. I do not own any of these delightful characters.__ Please comment nicely! _

_One: Two Castaways_

"Unacceptable, Andrea. I refuse to be trapped here. Trapped on a tropical island populated only by strange, beast-like men." Miranda Priestly paced nervously back and forth, pushing her slim white fingers through her shimmering silver hair. "Why isn't anyone doing anything? Why can't they send Navy SEALS to rescue us? What do we pay these people for? More to the point, what do I pay you for, Andrea?"

The pretty, dark-haired girl on the bed just smiled. "Miranda, please sit down. You look like . . . like the world's most elegant nervous wreck." It would take more than a mad scientist and an army of primitive beast-men to make Andy Sachs lose her sense of humor. "Look at the bright side. Dr. Moreau didn't have to rescue us, but he did. We survived the plane crash. I'm sure someone is looking for us by now. You're a very important person, you know. And after all, the Pacific Ocean isn't _that_ big."

"Spare me your cloying attempts at consolation, please." Miranda's arrogant disdain didn't match the concern in her cool gray eyes as she sat down beside her assistant. "Andrea, I've accomplished enough for ten lifetimes. If I go, I know how much I leave behind. But you've only just begun."

"Miranda, I . . ." Andy wanted to tell her demanding boss that there was nothing to be afraid of on the island of Dr. Moreau. The caring young woman realized that deep down fearless Miranda was both human and vulnerable. But what made her huge brown eyes suddenly well up with tears was the realization that Miranda wasn't worried about her own safety. All she cared about was protecting _her_ . . . protecting Andy.

The two women were just leaning towards each other on the bed when there was a sudden sharp knock on the door.

"Dinner now," said the furry-faced little man in the white busboy's jacket. "Dr. Moreau say you come eat, please."

"I wonder if that poor creature knows that he used to be a dog before Dr. Moreau turned him into his assistant," Andy said thoughtfully, after the beast-like butler had left the room.

"We don't know that for sure, Andrea," Miranda cautioned. She was still in sharply creased black slacks and a classic white tailored shirt by Bill Blass, but she helped her assistant into a lovely floral-print sarong provided by Dr. Moreau. "So far, the man has been the perfect host."

"But it seems so cruel, taking these simple creatures and changing them . . . _forcing_ them to perform such unnatural work." Andy gave a mouse-like squeak as Miranda's elegant white hand swatted her shapely bottom. She turned around feeling breathless, her eyes wide, her lips parted.

"Speaking from personal experience, Andrea, wouldn't you say it's possible they don't mind serving Dr. Moreau?" There was a strangely knowing gleam in Miranda's cool gray eyes. "He's transformed them completely . . . molded these clumsy creatures to fit _his_ elegant design. Perhaps they enjoy that."

"Well . . . maybe they do." Andy flushed as she took in her imperious employer's true meaning. She was loyal to Miranda, but her feelings were a lot more complicated than pure canine devotion. There was respect, and admiration, and a constant smoldering attraction which was almost like a need or an ache or . . . well, whatever. She just _had_ to help Miranda escape from this island of lost souls!


	2. Feeling Like God

ISLAND OF LOST SOULS

_Two: Feeling Like God_

"Do you know what it means to feel like God?" Dr. Moreau's casual question made Andy shiver. He was nice enough at dinner, chatting about things like raising orchids and speeding up the process of evolution by millions of years, but something about him made the dark-eyed, long-legged beauty as skittish as a colt. The doctor was a fat little man with a round, oily face and a tiny goatee. He kept rubbing his plump white hands together like a naughty boy with a secret.

"Oh, I'm far more important than God. I'm Miranda Priestley." The legendary editor of Runway looked up from her garden salad with absolute aplomb. Her dignity and poise would have stopped Jack the Ripper dead in his tracks.

"I beg your pardon?" stammered their chubby little host. Watching from behind her wine glass, Andy had to smile. She knew Miranda, but Dr. Moreau was taken totally by surprise. His fat face actually lost its complacent evil smirk.

"As a magazine editor I work miracles every month. I do the impossible again and again, in spite of the amazing incompetence all around me. Of course I imagined that a great scientist like you would be slightly less inefficient than those silly people back in New York, but . . . we're still here. And you have been . . . unable to contact anyone to rescue us, in spite of having such an enormous radio antennae out there in the jungle. Can you get it working? Is this simple task too much for you? Am I reaching for the stars here? I don't think so."

"Well, I'm . . . that is to say . . . what an _astonishing_ woman you are." Dr. Moreau was no match for Miranda. For a moment Andy actually expected him to surrender without a fight, just like everyone else. She downed her wine with a lazy shrug, figuring she'd be back at Elias-Clarke in no time.

But this wasn't Manhattan. And Dr. Moreau's mortified schoolboy mumbles were nothing more than an elaborate charade. He let Miranda punish him with the silken lash of her tongue. He actually seemed to enjoy it. But just then Andy heard noises coming from the jungle outside. Voices were rising and falling in a queer chant. But it was not music. Those moans and cries were not quite human, yet no animal could ever sound so . . . despairing.

"They are restless tonight," Dr. Moreau said quietly, sipping wine from his glass with one pinkie delicately extended.

"Dr. Moreau, Miranda is a very important woman. If anything was to happen to her, people would know!" Andy tried to sound calm, and reasonable. But her voice cracked. Instead of sounding cool and sensible she sounded really scared.

The doctor looked at her as if she were a child. "My dear girl, you and your mistress are perfectly safe as long as you remain inside the house." He shrugged. "I'm certain we can go to the transmitter in the morning, but my jungle is very dark and tonight . . . tonight the natives are restless." More moans came from outside, and the doctor rolled his eyes. "Heavens, they do seem to be quite out of hand."

"What are those creatures?" Andy shrilled in a flare of panic. "What do they want? What did you do to them?"

Miranda kicked her assistant under the table. "Dr. Moreau, please ignore the dramatics. Andrea is very tired. That's all."

The fat little man took the hint right away. "Of course. You know your way back to your chambers, Miss Sachs? I would advise that neither of you leave your room till morning. I'm afraid the natives haven't seen a woman since Lota died."

"Lota?" Andy felt a sliver of pure dread run down her spine. She poured more wine with a shaky hand.

"Lota, the panther woman." Dr. Moreau's round face beamed with pride. "A completely human woman, with all the savage instincts of a jungle panther. The natives worshiped her as a goddess. Of course she really was a common Bengal panther . . . before I began my experiments."

"Oh, God." Andy drained her glass, dizzy with horror. She looked at Miranda almost pleadingly. "This is a crazy place. Crazy place. Let's get out of here. Let's just go . . ."

"Go to bed." Miranda didn't even look at her. "You go to bed, Andrea dear. I'll join you later." She gave Dr. Moreau a sly smile. "You and I have so much in common, doctor. We make our own rules. Silly people don't understand . . ."


	3. A Juicy Nightmare

_Three: A Juicy Nightmare_

Andy staggered back to her room and fell across the bed, feeling as though she were suffocating in the humid tropical night. The room was spinning, and the walls were closing in. It took a long time for her brain to start working again.

Miranda had sent her to bed to get her out of the way. Why? Their only chance was to reach the transmitter and radio for help. But Miranda was not the type to run through the jungle. So it seemed likely she was taking a very different approach. At this very moment she and Doctor Moreau . . .

Andy sat up on the bed, feeling sick to her stomach. She would not allow Miranda to be humiliated! If anyone had to bargain with Dr. Moreau, and submit to his sordid demands, it should be her. Her boss had too much class. Miranda was too refined, too pure to be sullied by such a slimy little man.

Of course her first instinct was to go and offer herself in Miranda's place. But when she crept down the hall to the laboratory Andy saw it was already too late.

Dr. Moreau was tied up in restraints on an operating table. Miranda was standing over him in high heels and a starchy white nurse's outfit, slapping him very lightly across the face with a pair of latex surgical gloves.

"Oh, no!" he moaned, softly, obviously enjoying himself. "Not the House of Pain!"

"Yes," Miranda said softly. "This is the House of Pain. Baby must tell Miranda everything, or baby will get a spanking. What was that emergency rescue frequency again?"

Andy sighed, and turned away from the barred window of the laboratory door. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She did feel grateful for Miranda's courage. But that didn't stop the absurd sense of jealousy and hurt. Andy crept back to bed, feeling all mixed up. For a long time she lay awake hugging her pillow, shedding useless, pointless tears.

At last she slept, and drifted into a real juicy nightmare. Andy was lost in the jungle, and the beast-men were closing in. And then Miranda was there, protecting her, cracking her whip like a lion tamer. She was so superior, so disdainful of the hairy brutes. Miranda wore a wide-brimmed planter's hat, boots polished to a mirror shine, and pressed khaki trousers. She looked incredibly brave, and so chic.

But it wasn't Miranda they were after. Andy was the prey.

The moment she slipped out of Miranda's shadow, wearing the lovely native sarong with the big red flowers, the hungry snarling beast-men stopped in their tracks.

Andy ran.

They chased her.

Miranda was left behind.

"Lota! Lota! Lota!" The howls of the hungry beast men seemed to echo in her ears. Yet it was more than hunger that drove them. Andy ran until exhaustion overpowered her. She fell heavily and lay waiting, helpless, expectant. Before long she felt their hot breath and their pawing hands, and then she was being used, roughly and crudely, while she cried out again and again for Miranda. Miranda, Miranda . . .


	4. Rescued At Last

_Four: Rescued At Last_

"Wake up, Andrea." The soft, crisp voice and the delicate white hand on her shoulder were both wonderfully familiar.

"I had this really freaky dream." Andy sat up on the bed, rubbing her eyes. It was late morning, and the room was filled with sunlight. "We were trapped here. I wanted to save you, but Dr. Moreau and his animals got me instead."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "If there were the slightest danger, Andrea, I would take whatever steps were necessary to save myself." Just for a moment, there was a flicker of warmth in those remarkable light gray eyes. "And you," she added, her soft voice dropping to a whisper as she sat down on the bed.

"I know that, Miranda." Memories of the night before came rushing back. Andy pushed the hair out of her face, and gazed at Miranda with sadness in her enormous brown eyes.

"Don't." Miranda said sharply.

"Don't what?" In spite of having a big lump in her throat, Andy was amused. Miranda hated doing messy emotions.

"Don't look at me with those big puppy-dog eyes as if you need to _apologize_ for something. And don't imagine for one moment that I need to be _protected_ by a silly girl like you. That's not why I keep you around."

"Oh?" Andy tilted one slim dark brow. For a moment she looked almost as haughty and superior as Miranda herself. "And why do you keep me around? For my fashion sense?"

"This is why." Miranda leaned towards her on the bed.

"Boat here! Boat here!" Dr. Moreau's semi-canine assistant sounded almost cheerful. There was a sharp knock on the door, and the sound of military voices in the corridor outside.

But the two women on the bed paid no attention at all.

_A/N: __I just adore writing about Andy and Miranda, but this is really a crossover fiction. It's a tribute both to H.G. Wells' novel __The Island of Dr. Moreau__ and the original movie version from 1932, __Island of Lost Souls__ starring Charles Laughton and Bela Lugosi. _

_The Devil Wears Prada__ and __Island of Lost Souls__ both feature strong, charismatic leaders with God-like powers, whose followers endure all sorts of torture yet literally worship their "creators." I'm sure Meryl Streep could play Dr. Moreau as well as Laughton did. And I can certainly imagine Anne Hathaway as a very fetching version of Lota, the Panther Woman! _


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